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“I’m her son. Why am I not permitted to join my father?”
“Only one visitor per patient, sir.”
“I’m hardly avisitor.As I said, I’m her son.”
“Hospital policy, sir.”
When she lowered her gaze as if to dismiss me, I walked over to the windows lining the waiting area. I was about to ring Beau to tell him I still didn’t know anything when I heard my name called.
“I’m Lavery Barrett,” I said, approaching a man dressed in scrubs who stood directly outside a set of double doors.
“Come with me, sir.”
I followed him past several bays and around a corner. He opened a door. Inside, I saw my father sitting with his head in his hands. The man shut the door behind me, leaving us alone.
“Dad?”
When he looked up, I saw he was crying.
“Lavery? How…”
“I came home early. I wanted to surprise you and Mum. How is she? What’s happened?”
He leaned forward, covered his face again, and sobbed.
I knelt in front of him and put my hand on his shoulder. “Dad? Please…”
“She’s…”—his voice broke—“gone.”
Gone?It couldn’t possibly be…No, I refused to even consider it. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry,” he cried. “I just…”
I put my arms around my dad and held him as he cried, tears running down my own cheeks.
We remained that way for several minutes. Finally, my father pulled away and sat upright. “They’re not sure what happened,” he said, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “There was nothing they could do.”
“Can you explain what took place at the house?”
“She and I were in the kitchen. Your mother opened the refrigerator door and just collapsed. I tried…” My father’s voice broke again.
“It’s okay, Dad. Take your time.”
“I couldn’t find a pulse,” he said after taking several deep breaths. “I tried CPR. Mrs. Gonzales called 911.”
There was a knock at the door. When I stood and opened it, a man who introduced himself as Dr. Shammas joined us. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Barrett,” he said, placing his hand on my father’s shoulder like I had.
“I’m Lavery Barrett. Their son,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Lavery,” the doctor said to me.
“What happened?”
“We’re not entirely certain, but we suspect your mother may have had a pulmonary embolism that traveled to her heart. While mortality rates are low, approximately ten percent of people who suffer from this occurrence do not survive.” He turned to my father. “Had your wife complained of shortness of breath? Pain?”
My dad shook his head.
“Given we’re uncertain of the cause of death, we’d like to perform an autopsy. It is your decision whether we do so or not. You do not need to make the determination right away. However, the results will be more conclusive if it’s done within the first twenty-four hours.”
